No matter how many times you see yourself barreling down an Arkansas state road with someone somewhere half-between Uma Thurman and Jesus across the Caddy's undivided front seat on a hot-as-shit summer day--a six of Bud talls chilling in the Igloo along with the spare tranny fluid--

you still find yourself in Jersey City on a Sunday night in your shorts with some beer your Mom bought you, wondering what the fuck happened.

In any case, last night I dreamt she was in bed next to me again.